I lit the pyres of my brothers and sisters. Initiates, knights, and lords. My friends paid for my failings. Nothing now remains but ashes. At least their souls will rest, undisturbed and unmarred. - Reflections of Lysander of the Lucent

It was a good day. A delightful day. A sublime day.

Fiona controlled the feral grin that was creeping onto her face. Muffled by the thick crimson carpet, her shoes echoed slightly as she walked down the immaculate marbled hall. Guards wearing bone-white armor stood in pairs, flanking pillars that supported the massive vaulted ceiling. The face plates of their helmets looked like skulls with fangs—a mix of canine and human.

Different sigils were placed on the guards' breastplates. Some bore the golden book of House Calden, the crossed sword, and axe of House Seraphel, the weighted scales of Nocturne, or the purple and red flowers of House Lustra. The guards watched each other as much as they watched the hall.

Screams echoed out, and Fiona shivered in pleasure. The guards didn't react to the bloodcurdling wails. How could they, when they resounded in Fiona's own mind? Her own personal symphony of agony. Those screams had accompanied her since the day she received the gift. She had been so weak then.

But she wasn't now.

The desperate, agonized cries of the last fragment of her soul were sweet music to her ears. It was the last desperate piece that had held on when the rest had been consumed to elevate her above the rest of humanity. The excess trappings had been cut away, leaving her a more perfect being.

Soulless.

The grand bronze and silver doors swung open as Fiona approached them. They were split into four sections, each displaying the same emblems the guards bore. Divided into several descending tiers with a large round table at its center, the room was already bustling with activity. Members from the great houses were already present. Some had claimed seats in the different sections, but most milled about, whispering.

Like roaches underfoot. It was an old and familiar thought. And all playing their insignificant games. All their preening and pretending was hollow. Fiona's eyes fell on a cluster of House Calden and widened in surprise.

They all clustered around Lucian Calden, their head of house, like a shield wall. Lucian looked like death was looming over him. His albino skin was sunken and thin, his ethereal blue eyes were hollow, and his usually shining red hair looked thin and dull, its luster completely faded.

Maybe the rumors were true. Fiona found the look suited the man, or perhaps she just enjoyed seeing her enemies look frail. She knew something had happened on the primary Calden estate. A ritual had failed and taken half of the place apart. The rumors said that Lucian had barely survived. Fiona's information network was well-placed and deeply integrated into all the houses, but she had yet to discover what spell Lucian and his cabal had been working on.

Lucian saw her looking and smiled. His lips moved back further than was natural, revealing sharp teeth and blood-red gums. He gave a small greeting before breaking from his curtain of house members. He made his way down to the center table, where he was quickly joined by three more figures.

A lithe woman dressed in purple stepped down to join him at the table. Soon after, a tall, massive man and a short, fat man joined them. Their skin shawn like polished alabaster, and their eyes glowed the same ethereal glow as Fiona's.

Fiona was one of the few on the top tier. What do you have to say today, Lucian? She leaned against the railing, laying delicate porcelain fingers on the dark polished wood; eagerly, she awaited the beginning of the meeting. Fiona didn't have to wait long.

"Watchers of the court," Lucian held up thin and bony arms, and the low buzz of conversation that had permeated the room fell silent, "I am calling this meeting to order." There was a boom as the doors slammed shut, and the heavy lock clicking into place echoed throughout the room. The sounds of four chairs scratching against stone filled the room as the four high lords took their seats.

"Hurry this up, Lucian," It was Valthor, his arms crossed over his massive bulk, "House Seraphel has a busy schedule."

The woman laughed, her head tilting backward, sending her brown silky locks flowing, "More delving, Lord Valthor; I would have thought you'd be weary of it by now."

"We of Seraphel, never weary of battle or its rewards, Lady Lustra." His savage grin revealed sharp canines.

"Enough," interrupted the short, fat man, "I have no interest in listening to Vespera talk you into her bed again, Valthor." Elion turned to face Lucian. "Does this have anything to do with you leveling half of your estate?"

"Indeed it does." Lucian's smile was cold.

"I struggle to see the necessity of convening a full council over a failed ritual. You are wasting our time, time that is valuable and better spent elsewhere." Elion stood, his chair scraping against the ground.

"We did not fail," Lucian spoke softly, yet even without the use of magic, everyone in the room heard. "We succeeded, Elion." Fiona straightened, her attention focused on Lucian. "You speak of return on value for your time. What I have to say is worth the investment. If you would only be patient."

Elion's eyes narrowed, and he clenched the back of his chair. Fiona could see the man calculating, his little brain running through possibilities before his expression smoothed and an affable smile spread across his face.

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"Of course, my friend, I spoke in haste. Please forgive my hurried nature." Elion retook his seat.

"Not to worry, you are undoubtedly the busiest of us all. I understand your time is valuable, and I will endeavor to make this brief. Now," Lucian took a deep breath before letting a confident grin cross his face, "one day ago, we succeeded in conducting an experiment—"

"About damn time you Calden's blew something up," interrupted Valthor, "How many of you did it take? I need to know if I should be getting excited."

Fiona chuckled softly, her amusement only heightened by Elion's glare towards Valthor.

"The explosion was an unfortunate side effect."

"Explosions are never unfortunate."

"Valthor," Elion placed his face in his hands, "Would you please shut your barbarian mouth so we can get through this with some modicum of haste."

Valthor opened his mouth, but his words were cut short when Vespera leaned over the table and whispered something. A wide grin spread across his face, and he closed his mouth, nodding at Lucian.

Fiona nodded to herself. Like their predecessors, she'd watched these four take power. Fiona had been there at the beginning before their lines had begun. It was the same old game, just with different faces. A pity for them that I'm not playing the same game.

"Our experiment," continued Lucian, "was to see if we could use magic to glean raw knowledge and store it securely in a suitable vessel."

His words were greeted by confused silence. "Lucian," Vespera spoke gently, "I think you need to elaborate so the rest of us can understand."

"It sounds like you've been trying to look into the future." Elion's face had turned scarlet, "I knew this was a waste of time."

"Not the future, my friend, but the past," said Lucian. "Any mage that has tried knows that peering up the river of time is impossible, but to look back…" he trailed off, his smile spreading. Fiona leaned over the railing, pressing her crimson dress against it. "Of course, the scope is small, and it is a challenging feat. The resources I've had to expend on this project are… substantial. My best are all dead, I myself," he motioned to himself, "did not come out unscathed."

"What did you learn," asked Vespera.

"Very little," smiled Lucian, "at least for the moment. Much of what we extracted will take time to translate. We've been making slaves commune with our chosen vessel to extract more memories. Most die, and those that live come back raving. Their minds are completely shattered, but in their ravings lie pieces of the grand puzzle we are attempting to assemble, and what little we have pieced together is dire." He raised his voice, looking from the table to the assembly in the stands above them. "Humanity is endangered."

Fiona's brow furrowed as mutterings enveloped the chamber. Just what have you been up to, Lucian?

"We have years, maybe a decade if we are lucky."

“You speak as much sense as one of the savages that fight in the pits, Lucian. Drop the theatrics and speak plainly," demanded Elion, his multiple chins jiggling as he spoke.

"Since humanity came to this planet, we have been protected. That protection is coming to an end. Within the decade, humanity will be beset on all sides. Elves, primordials, denizens of the deep. Any being who can profit from conquering humanity will attempt to do so. Our hegemony over them, our rightful positions as humanities rulers, is being threatened."

"You spout a compelling tail, Lucian. But I want proof, and until I see it, my doubts of your claim will not be alleviated."

"He is not wrong in expressing doubt," Vespera said comfortingly.

"That explosion seems to have rattled your brain," laughed Valthor.

Lucian smiled and stood slowly before turning and scanning the crowd until his eyes landed on Fiona, "Lady Fiona Lucent, in your long and storied life, do you remember hearing of a man named Gregory James Flint, last Keeper of the Pillar of Dawn?"

Fiona's blood froze, memories of her adopted father waking up screaming. Screaming that name. Pleading with it. Raging against it.

"Who is this, Lucian," asked Vespera.

"My noble friends, I present to you Fiona Lucent, progenitor of her gift line. The last living member of our forbears who fled the continent of Anthropos and who I highly suspect is the first of our kind to break into the fourth circle."

Fiona had smoothed her face into indifference. She'd been expected to be outed decades, maybe even centuries ago. All in all, she was pleased with how long she had been able to stay in the shadows.

"You play a dangerous game."

Lucian bowed deeply, "Those are the only games worth playing, my Lady."

She began to descend towards the table. There were mutterings around her as she descended.

Seraphel laughed, his deep chuckle reverberating throughout the room. "This is a brilliant joke, Lucian." He was nearly prostrate over the table, pounding his heavy fist in glee. "You had me half convinced."

Fiona spoke as she walked, allowing the attention of everyone in the room to center on her. "Gregory James Flint," she said, power seeping from her. She flooded the room with the sweet melody and rhythm of pure magic. An amount that she doubted the entire room combined could match. The mutterings stopped. "How do you know that name, Lucian?"

Lucian's calm expression never wavered. "The patriarch of my gift line brought his head with him during the exodus."

“That explains where you got the memories from.” Fiona reached the table where the high lords waited in silence. "Your guess is correct. I reached the fourth circle less than a year ago." Fiona effortlessly cast a spell. A simple but versatile spell. Open-ended so that her will might shape its final construct. There was a grind of stone as part of the floor liquified and transformed into a chair. She sat down. Joining the children at their table.

Her eyes swept them. She noticed the faint beads of sweat on Elion's forehead, the mild concern in Vespera's ethereal eyes, and the open lust on Valthor's face. Only Lucian's true thoughts were unintelligible, well hidden under a confident smirk.

"What have you discovered, Lucian?" she asked, keeping her voice flat and refusing to show any emotion.

"The Jonras are dying, and with them, their protection."

"And you propose?"

"Humanity must be united to survive, and we," Lucian motioned around the room, "are the only ones capable of uniting them. You know the path back to Anthropos. I suspect you already have agents there, at least in some capacity."

'Correct again, Lucian. Your guesses are very well made."

"If my fellow high lords agree to join me. I offer you access to my research in exchange for passage of our… delegation to Anthropos."

Fiona smiled as the screams of her tortured soul reached new heights.

What a lovely day.